Every Monday evening for seven more weeks you can be part of a live online class presented by Oprah and the author of the book A New Earth – Awakening to Your Life’s Purpose. I decided to sign up for the class because I’m curious to know if my life’s purpose involves more than driving fast, telling stories, and drinking red wine. Besides, I’m starting to worry about this age thing – I feel like I’m treading water in the deep and desperate end of the age pool, my body is falling apart, and my brain can’t remember the ingredients for a BLT.Last night’s class took about 90 minutes, so I poured a glass of wine and settled in with my copy of the book and the worksheets (available on oprah.com.) Eckhart Tolle, the author, explained some profound facts, such as “Worry pretends to be necesssary, but serves no useful purpose.” I was contemplating his words and was on the verge of one of Oprah’s “ah-ha” moments when he started talking about the ego. “Your ego lives in a constant state of not enough. The ego makes us over-eat, over-spend, and over-indulge.” Instead of being enlightened, I was convicted. Why was he talking about me? I sipped my wine and pondered his words. Then Oprah took a call from a woman in Berlin who claimed that the book had saved her life and helped her to stop drinking so much wine. My immediate reaction was to demand a refund for the class, take my wine and walk out. But, I didn’t have to pay for it and I was already home, so I kept listening. The author extolled the virtues of consciously enjoying a single glass of wine every now and then. Only one at a time! Every now and then! That’s like eating one M&M! Or one potato chip! Who can do that?Well, by the end of the class I had a better understanding of the author’s advice. Here are some of his other statements:”Treat rude people as royalty and then watch them change.” “The primary moment in your life is NOW. Accept it as it is.””Some people are addicted to the energy of unhappiness. Ego loves drama.”These statements make me think – so much that it hurts my brain. I have to rest it now and go have only one glass of wine. (He didn’t say how big the glass could be so maybe I’ll use a glass mixing bowl. But, I will contemplate and savor the experience and consciously enjoy every indulgent sip.) – See more at: http://www.test.elaineambrose.com/blog/oprahs-class-hurts-my-brain#sthash.Ut3VoIgT.dpuf
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Midlife Cabernet: Enjoy a Family Vacation without Drama or Trauma
You’ve seen the advertisements that feature glossy photos of deliriously happy families laughing together on vacation. Keep in mind that these people are paid strangers and will never see each other again. For a sobering reality check, remember that a high number of shootings and stabbings occur during family holiday events. Plan wisely.
We recently returned from the best family vacation of my entire long and well-traveled life. There were eleven people, including my two children and their spouses, their five giggling little girls, Studley and me. We were like a football team but without the private jet. Our mission was to leave the country, have a splendid time, and return alive. Touchdown and score!
Here are some key points to consider when attempting a family vacation:
- Plan ahead. We made reservations for hotel and airline tickets seven months in advance. Even with advance planning, we were all scrambling to get packed a few hours before departure.
- Get or update passports if you’re leaving the country. One dilemma: my son and his wife had a new baby but she still needed a passport. The rules state that no one else can be in the passport photo so he had to hold up her tiny body with one hand. She looks like a puppet on a stick, and that passport is good for five years.
- Pack lightly. Studley and I just roll up hand-washable clothes and travel with carryon bags only. Of course, parents with kids need twenty extra pieces of luggage just for diapers and electronic gear. Traveling light is just another advantage of being older.
- Include workout shoes and clothes. Most hotels have gyms so you can exercise before and after enjoying insane quantities of piña coladas and nachos. And walking in the sand along the beach really tones those legs as you head to town for some coconut gelato.
- Do you own activities. Studley and I left to golf one day and we rode horses on the beach another day. The adults shared babysitting duties so each couple could relax without bringing a pacifier or an animated puppet show. Then we all got together for meals and playing on the beach.
- Get professional photographs. It sounds cheesy, but the resorts do a good job of organizing family photographs. We’re pleased with the results because our phones just don’t take quality photos.
- There will be some drama. At any given time, at least one of the five children was crying, pouting, or attempting to run away. But after a few margaritas the adults didn’t care.
- One important rule of life: Enjoy the beauty of where you are. We stayed at a lovely resort on the beach in Cabo, Mexico. A week later, I can still hear the laughter of my granddaughters playing in the waves, feel the motion of the ocean, taste the delicious fresh sea bass dinner, and visualize the full moon reflecting over the water. Savor those memories, and use them as a catalyst for planning the next trip.
During my childhood, we had one family vacation. My parents took their three children to Disneyland but they couldn’t tolerate the crowds so we left early and drove non-stop home to Idaho. I’ve always felt cheated, until last week. We had an amazing time, and I’m grateful.
Today’s blog was fueled by a 2010 Decoy Zinfandel from Duckhorn Wine Company in Sonoma County. Have several bottles on hand to celebrate the beauty of life. It’s $38 a bottle at Crush Wine Bar in Eagle – but only $32 if you join the wine club. Of course, I did.
Midlife Cabernet: Dealing with Death, Taxes, and Independence
Spring 2013 brought the daunting, predictable realities of death and taxes that were offset by the joyful introduction of a spunky baby girl who has her father’s nose, my chin, and her own delightful energy. This week we attended a family funeral, I compiled another bulging box of documents for my beleaguered tax accountant, and I unpacked our family’s 108-year-old Christening gown for my new granddaughter to wear.
Sometimes death has no sting.
The family funeral became a memorial celebration of life for my husband’s father. He died at age 83 after years of being lost with Alzheimer’s, and his final journey was a quiet blessing. At the service, wonderful stories were shared about past activities when he still remembered the names of his children and grandchildren.
Taxes are taxing.
My first full-time job started forty years ago, and I’ve paid income and property taxes ever since. I don’t mind paying assessments that fund schools and roads, and I willingly share my resources for programs that assist the elderly, help handicapped people, provide for those with special needs, and support the arts. But I am extremely aggravated about the mismanagement of taxpayer money by inept politicians who have less common sense than a child with a piggy bank.
A child knows that when the money is gone, the spending must stop. Our national government leaders, however, continue to spend borrowed money to send foreign aid to countries with regimes that want to kill us and to promote unnecessary and abused entitlement systems that create more takers than makers, all while ignoring the fact that our crippled country in on the verge of irretrievable bankruptcy. Got food storage?
Christening and Customs
On a more joyful note, my granddaughter will be Christened in a hand-stitched dress made by my great-grandmother and worn by my grandmother in 1906, my mother in 1927, me in 1952, and my daughter in 1978. The baby’s ancestors were strong pioneers and hard-working farmers who dreamed of becoming writers, musicians, and travelers. When my son and daughter-in-law present their child to proclaim her name in the presence of God and assembled witnesses, the dress will cloak her with a legacy of tough, talented, spirited women.
Next Spring will bring another opportunity to prepare for the certainty of taxes. And a splendid toddler will walk barefoot in new grass, pick fresh blossoms, sing silly songs, and wonder what’s beyond the fence. We’ll give her a piggy bank and some seed packages to plant in a garden and encourage her to become self-reliant and independent as a tribute to her hardy ancestors.
Many years from now, I’ll share some fine wine with my granddaughters, and we’ll tell amazing stories about our grand adventures. Then I’ll ask them to sing one more song before it’s time for me to go.
Today’s blog is fueled by several small bottles of Wente Merlot from California. It’s available on Delta Airlines and is sufficient when writing a blog at 30,000 feet while flying to a family funeral.
Midlife Cabernet: When the Hope Chest is Empty
Many middle-aged women were raised to be tough and to stifle tears, but after a few decades of being Women of Steel sometimes we need to let go and bawl like helpless babies. Besides, a recent study from the University of Minnesota found that crying improves the mood, and weeping can also help with healing, boosting immunity, and reducing levels of anger and stress. So wail away, and then blow your nose, pull up your big girl pants, and go back to slaying dragons.
I hit the wall this week after five days of intense mental and physical activity that included traveling across the country to attend a family funeral and then moving my mother 100 miles to another assisted living facility in her home town. I maintained a steady focus until I returned to clean out my mother’s room at her former place. That’s when I lost it and became a sobbing sack of sorry sap. If the University of Minnesota study is correct, I have earned several years of guaranteed healing and immunity.
Blame in on the furniture. I have helped move my mother 10 times in the last four years from various assisted living facilities, rehabilitation locations, two different homes, and to her current location. Through heat, snow, and a broken foot, I have toted, hauled, and heaved countless boxes, some that were never opened. The first move involved a large moving van full of sturdy furniture and prized possessions she had collected for 86 years. This last trek was accomplished with only my SUV.
Mom is confined to a wheelchair and a medical bed, so she has no need for furniture. I gave away her possessions including a fashionable dining set, flowered couches, a rocking chair, a cherry bedroom set that came from a mansion in Butte, Montana, and a mahogany china hutch from a dude ranch in Gooding County. But I had to stop at the hope chest, and that’s what started the water works.
My mother received the cedar chest as a present from her parents when she graduated from Wendell High School in 1945. Back then, young women prepared for their future home long before they were married. They sewed pillowcases, knitted afghans, and collected linens to store in the trunk. My mom, the timid Valedictorian, was engaged to my father, the popular student body president. Her cedar-lined hope chest symbolized an escape from her life of farm work.
I opened the chest and sorted the contents that had given her such hope over the years: her wedding dress in a clouded dress bag, unused satin pillowcases turned yellow with age, a pink blanket still waiting to swaddle two baby girls who never breathed, old newspapers, a folder of Paul Harvey columns, letters from my father when he served overseas in the military, a gold locket, faded photographs of nameless people, a portrait of my father – so handsome at 18 before a myriad of illnesses and a lifetime of stress ravaged his body.
When the chest was empty, I started to sob as I thought of the fresh young woman who eagerly looked forward to the future but today only hopes to see the sun rise in the morning. Mom is content now and her room’s window overlooks the main street of town where she grew up and raised her family. Old friends come to visit, and they laugh and retell old stories. She’s forgotten about her possessions that now fill the homes of grateful strangers. It’s obvious that friends are better than furniture, but I’ll keep the hope chest.
Today’s blog was fueled by a glass of 2010 Cinder Cabernet Blend from Snake River Valley. It’s available at Fork Restaurant in downtown Boise for $9.50 a glass. If you like Chardonnay, (but why would you?) Fork has a Grgich Hills from Napa Valley, one of my favorite wineries.
Midlife Cabernet: Gleefully Tossing Guilt into the Garbage
I want to design and market a “Guilt-be-Gone” garbage can for middle-aged women who want to be liberated from the endless criticism of their personal decisions about childcare and assisted living facilities. My new waste receptacle will have “GUILT” painted all over it, and I’ll sing with the passionate fervor of a gospel choir as I wheel that ugly, overloaded can of rubbish to the curb every week. Take it away, trusty trash man!
I’ve reached that wonderful time of life, just before tumbling into eccentricity then onto senility, when I don’t give a hoot anymore about any negative opinions and judgments about my difficult choices. And, it’s usually the working mother or dutiful daughter who is responsible for these important family issues. I rarely see any men pushing wheelchairs during visiting hours at the old folk’s home.
A generation ago, I was in the minority as a full-time working mother searching for adequate child care options while being criticized for leaving my children. I stayed home with two babies for five years and then returned to full-time work because I loved my jobs and because my children preferred to eat food, wear clothes, and live in a house with running water. Back then, the choices were limited but I did my best. I looked for a place that offered a wonderful, caring staff, healthy snacks, time for naps, and at a fair cost. Now I can proudly say that my kids are successful adults, we’re all close, and they haven’t given me a copy of the movie, Throw Mama from the Train.
Recently it’s been déjà vu as I visited various assisted living facilities for my widowed mother. I know some acquaintances are clucking their tongues and muttering that she should move in with me, but she has serious health issues and mobility limitations. She lived with me a few years ago, and it was not a good experience for either of us. So, I searched for a facility that offered a wonderful caring staff, healthy snacks, time for naps, and at a fair cost. Yes, I’ve been this route before.
According to the National Center for Assisted Living, more than 900,000 people nationwide are residing in assisted living settings. So, I figure there are at least that many middle-aged women who helped put them there, so I’m not alone. If you’re looking for such a facility, find one that respects the dignity of the residents. I’ve met some incredible staff members who would qualify for Sainthood based upon how they treat their weak, confused, and incontinent patients. And they make less salary than garbage collectors.
Today’s diatribe contains a bit of irony. This week I went to the store to purchase diapers for a grandchild and adult diapers for my mother. To complete the shopping trip, I detoured to the wine section. Later I raised a glass to toast my mother in her latest and last care facility. There was no guilt involved.
Today’s blog was fueled by a 2010 Decoy red table wine – bottled by the fabulous folks at the Duckhorn Vineyards in Napa Valley. I lost a year of my life and a portion of my liver at their tasting room one fine afternoon. The Decoy goes for $25 a bottle and is an adequate substitute when you can’t justify $70 to $95 for their delightful Cabernet blends.
Midlife Cabernet: The Proper Care and Coddling of Curmudgeons
I see old people. They’re everywhere. And there is one looking back at me in the mirror. Just yesterday I was cruising down the road in my 1972 Firebird swaying to some saucy songs from Carole King’s Tapestry album blaring on my 8-track stereo and now I’m driving a sturdy SUV to the drug store to buy Geritol and Metamucil.
Somehow the world did a fast-forward through several decades and I’m trying to remember where I put my bearings. I vaguely remember tucking my sweet babies into bed and suddenly they appeared at my door with my grandkids. My neck resembles a dryer hose, I need to ratchet up my boobs off my belly, and I don’t dare laugh too loudly or I’ll wet my pants. Yes, getting older is really full of thrills.
According to the Census Bureau, 21 percent of Americans will be at least 65 years old by 2050. And the younger generation is having fewer children so there won’t be workers (or jobs) to fund programs to take care of old people. But by then I’ll be 99 years old and won’t care. Just prop me in the sunshine, put a straw in a jug of wine, leave a plate of soft cheese and bread, and play some jazz. If I get cranky, just kiss my aging attitude and leave me alone.
Business analysts predict that all of us old folks will generate profitable new markets for products and supplies. Investors are eager to find opportunities connected to strategic demographic trends, and entrepreneurs are focusing on how to capitalize on the needs and demands of the older generation.
I can save them a lot of complicated scheming and precious time by offering some good old common sense. And, it’s free. Here are the top investment strategies from my organization called OFF – Old Fart’s Foundation:
- Buy stock in drug stores. There’s always a line at the prescription counter at Walgreens, and the kindly pharmacists usually explain the drugs. “Yes, Ma’am, this could make you poop in your pants but your other ailments will disappear.”
- Invest in makers of medical devices. We could have a one-stop boutique where we have our hair and nails done and go home with a new hip and pacemaker.
- Honor the blue chip companies of your long-ago youth. Johnson & Johnson still makes Band-Aids, creams, and potions, and for now the world headquarters is in New Jersey. Buy now before some foreign conglomerate takes over and then you’ll need a translator to read the directions.
- Own a single-story home and stay there as long as you can. There are many nice assisted living facilities, but most of them won’t allow you to have cocktails at 5:00 or fudge in the frig. Stay independent until they haul you away clutching your concealed weapon.
Our generation is full of dreamers, travelers, poets, and activists. We charted new paths and have the scars from battles won and lost. Now it’s our time to relax and enjoy the last third of life with quiet satisfaction. But first, get those darned kids off my lawn.
Today’s blog was fueled by a 2011 Prisoner from Napa Valley. This tasty, vibrant blend of Cabernet Sauvignon, Syrah, and Zinfandel is available at Crush Wine Bar in Eagle for $40. It will make you forget the reality that you’ve seen more summers than you’ll ever see again.
– See more at: http://www.test.elaineambrose.com/blog/midlife-cabernet-proper-care-and-coddling-curmudgeons#sthash.yIxvcQGP.dpuf
